


Amnesty and Ecstasy

by HomunculusTrashParty



Series: Paying Tribute to the King [6]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Blow Jobs, Consensual Violence, Cunnilingus, F/M, Flogging, Het, Infidelity, Masturbation, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:44:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4842839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomunculusTrashParty/pseuds/HomunculusTrashParty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sleeping with a married man once was his problem, but twice constituted an affair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Making War.

Olivier Armstrong was sitting in the war council room when the past week caught up to her. 

She’d learned to hold her tongue in front of the Fuhrer’s sycophants, lest she insult them or bruise their delicate masculine egos. The truth was that they weren’t interested in what she had to say, no matter how good her counsel was. 

It was likely better this way, she thought; if she never said anything, no one could accuse her of fomenting revolution or conspiring against the Fuhrer. 

Keeping quiet wasn’t easy, however. She was very good at her job and had developed skills in Briggs enduring battle and hardship that none of these men could imagine. It was difficult not to yell at them for their stupidity and interject an idea that was far superior. 

But in the Fuhrer’s presence, silence was survival. She was still his prisoner, and the memory of that afternoon in his office had never left her. And neither had the bruises on her hips, from his fingers when he’d grabbed her roughly and fucked her until she screamed.

As he entered the room, he gave her the subtlest of smirks, just a slight tug at one corner of his mouth. She remembered how it felt when he went down on her, and cleared her throat loudly as she stood at attention, meeting his eye. “Your Excellency.”

“General Armstrong,” he greeted warmly. “Our meeting isn’t for another fifteen minutes.”

“I arrive early,” she replied evenly.

“Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind the pleasure of my company.” The smirk broadened across his face, as he took a seat across from her at the table, rather than at the head. For once, she cursed her good memory. Pleasure, indeed.

“Not at all, sir.” She sat back down and lowered her eyes to the paperwork she’d been reading over before their meeting. It was likely more sparse than what the rest of the council would have access to, but any information at all was more than a prisoner could expect. It was an illusion of responsibility, for Olivier to play the role of the corrupt officer seeking immortality. And she played it well. 

Since coming to Central she’d grown to have far more respect for Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye. And everyone else who was under scrutiny so constant, so unrelenting, that it made her want to crawl out of her skin. It was bad enough when she’d had Raven and the Crimson Alchemist breathing down her neck in Briggs. But she hadn’t gotten where she was by giving up.

“You’re nothing if not thorough, are you?”

The deep gravel of his voice unexpectedly cutting through her thoughts sent a chill down her spine. “Every good leader is, sir. Overlooking a single detail can jeopardize the mission.”

“Indeed. Would you like some tea, General? I’m having my personal assistant make some.”

Olivier felt lucky that he hadn’t chosen her for that job. She wouldn’t have lasted long without either opening her mouth or drawing her sword. “Thank you, sir. I suppose it would be rude to refuse,” she mused to the papers in front of her, keeping her eyes on them. She didn’t want to know what kind of look he was giving her. 

Unfortunately, she could tell by the intonation of his voice. “It wouldn’t be rude… but you won’t refuse, will you?” He didn’t need to add ‘like last time’. 

She took a deep, steady breath. “No, sir.” Bradley really did enjoy the verbal equivalent of backing her into a corner. Well, she wouldn’t play that game any longer than was necessary. 

“The tea is ready, sir,” a woman announced with only a fraction of the weariness she had to be feeling, and Olivier looked up to see Lieutenant Hawkeye holding a tray with an ornate teapot and exactly two cups. 

Her eyes finally met his. He smiled. She tried not to shiver. It wasn’t fear; far from it, she was armed. Why was it that he seemed so much more sinister when he smiled?

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Olivier replied cordially, allowing Hawkeye to pour for the two of them and declining her offer of sugar and milk. She watched as the lieutenant prepared Bradley’s tea to what she assumed had to be his own specifications. _How humiliating,_ she thought. _But she’s taking it well._ To the untrained eye, Hawkeye didn’t appear distressed in any way. Olivier knew better, though, as did Bradley himself. _I bet he delights in this,_ she thought. _Taking Mustang’s beloved right-hand man and making her all but a servant._

“Delicious, as always,” he praised as he sipped his tea. Olivier had to hide the tiny note of amusement she felt at the almost delicate way he held his cup. _Of course; he’s a nobleman too, isn’t he? Or at least, he plays the role of one._

Hawkeye nodded her thanks and retreated, and Bradley wordlessly motioned for her to wait outside. She obeyed without any reluctance whatsoever.

Olivier lifted the teacup to her lips with impeccable etiquette, studying Bradley’s face and finding it impassive, as though he were waiting for her to make a move. It felt like a rather domestic approach to a game of chess. 

“I can see you’re trying to feel out my intentions.” He sipped at his tea slowly, letting the seconds hang in the air before continuing. “It is my responsibility to ensure that anyone not loyal to the plan is disposed of accordingly. Keeping a close eye on you is part of that responsibility. After all, that little stunt you pulled in Briggs hasn’t gone completely off the record, has it?”

Olivier wondered if maybe now was an appropriate time to regret killing Raven. She didn’t, however. ‘Loose lips sink ships,’ didn’t they? “No, sir, it has not. I am grateful that Your Excellency chose not to have me executed.”

“No.” He sipped at his tea again, a pleasant ‘ah’ trailing off behind. “It would have been such a waste. Particularly considering your noteworthy performance as of late.” 

_Do_ not _blush,_ she told herself. “I’d have gone with ‘exceptional’ myself, sir,” she replied, always curious to see where the true boundaries lay. 

He smiled. “I agree. I’ll correct my previous statement.” Olivier took his pause as an opportunity to enjoy her tea; it was very good, far better than the standard rations or anything at the commissary, even in Central. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in taking on an assignment for me, General Armstrong?”

 _Do I have a choice?_ “That depends on the nature of the assignment, Your Excellency.” 

“Of course.” His gaze penetrated hers, suddenly intensifying. “I should warn you, this assignment is… of a more personal nature.”

Against her will her heart thudded nervously in her chest. What did he have in mind? She wasn’t going to be the next Hawkeye, was she? Olivier suddenly had a mental image of herself in a maid uniform and had to resist shuddering. She’d end up dead before sunrise, because she’d kill him.

“I’d like a rematch.”

Olivier blinked. “Pardon me, sir, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bradley raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you?” 

Then she remembered. Their little tryst had begun with a fight, hadn’t it? This time heat flooded her cheeks. She hoped it wasn’t visible. 

Bradley must have noticed it anyway, because suddenly there was _that_ look on his face, somewhere between rage and desire. “This time I want to fight you in my palace.” 

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. “But sir… your wife?”

“What about my wife?”

“Surely a man like yourself wouldn’t commit adultery in his wife’s presence,” Olivier explained cautiously.

“She’s taking Selim to visit family this weekend.” Bradley finished his tea. “Take it or leave it, General.”

Olivier didn’t know what to say, and remained silent. Would it be wise to take him up on the offer? Did she want to? The sudden tension in her groin confirmed that yes, she wanted to—and the very thought of it thrilled her.

“Think about it. If you want to, here’s a phone number. My live-in staff will answer the call, let you in, and then leave as instructed.” Bradley passed her a slip of paper he’d already written on; how long had he been planning this? “If you betray my trust, I’ll kill you on the spot. No trial, no jury, no witnesses. You can be assured of that.” 

Prisoner or no, Olivier wasn’t about to make an attempt on the Fuhrer’s life at home. There was no way of telling what kind of weapons or guards he had on the premises, anyhow. “Of course, Your Excellency. I may be bold, but I’m not stupid.”

“Indeed you’re not.” The look he’d been giving her washed away, replaced with impenetrable calm as they both heard an audible click.

Lieutenant Hawkeye entered the room. “I apologize for interrupting, sir, but the other officers have arrived and are ready for you to start the meeting.” 

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Bradley allowed Hawkeye to collect their dishes on the tray she’d brought them in. “When you’ve put those away, wait outside for me until the meeting is over,” he instructed. She gave him a quick ‘yes, sir’ and Olivier wished she were the sort of woman who could smile at a fellow prisoner in comforting solidarity. Hawkeye definitely could use a smile.

Olivier gathered her self-discipline and prepared for their meeting, pushing all inappropriate thoughts out of her head for the time being.

 

An hour and a half of maddening stupidity and egomania later, Olivier was ready to storm out of the council room. Fortunately for her, they adjourned shortly after and she got to her feet, pushing her chair back in and making to leave the room. 

Bradley found her before she could get to the door. He opened and held it for her, and though to the others she was sure it read as a gentlemanly gesture, all she could see in his eye was lust. “Thank you, sir,” she said shortly and left, for a second wondering if he was going to follow her, but he didn’t. 

She made her way back to the small, furnished apartment Bradley had allocated for her. It was decent for what it was; Olivier knew damn well that the Armstrong family lived better than nearly everyone in Amestris and she wasn’t about to complain. It had everything she needed—a roof and running water. And she could live without either, though it wasn’t preferable. 

She sat at the oak desk in her living room and studied the slip of paper Bradley had given her. Was it foolish that she was planning on ringing him up? Fortunately, she had a day or two to think about it. 

Olivier changed into her civilian clothes, grabbed her handbag and went out to dinner. As she ate, at a table all by herself in a small and cozy inn, her thoughts drifted back to the last time she’d encountered Bradley, the day after their little meeting in his office. He had looked positively smug, and even stole a very indiscreet look at her breasts as she walked by. The sort of thing for which most men suffered a broken nose. Not that Bradley would have minded it terribly, given the right circumstance…

She wondered if this was considered fraternizing with the enemy. It had to be, but they were technically still allies. For now. It beat the hell out of being dead. 

Then she thought about his wife. She’d met Mrs. Bradley once, a while ago, at one of the military’s formal events. She seemed like an ordinary old woman with all the right breeding for an aristocrat. Olivier had the sneaking suspicion that she wasn’t, though. 

Was Mrs. Bradley even human? But then, if she were another homunculus, surely she could satisfy ‘Wrath’s’ unusual desires? And what about their son, Selim? Was it even possible for Bradley to father a child? Then again, she seemed to remember hearing that he was adopted. She took a bite of crusty bread and chewed thoughtfully, dunking the rest in her soup. Etiquette be damned, she had the night off. 

For a moment she wondered if there would be an ambush waiting for her at the Bradley mansion, but that seemed unlikely; her biggest threat was undoubtedly Bradley himself. And yet here he was, offering her his bed. Literally, in this case. Sleeping with a married man once was his problem, but twice constituted an affair. 

Olivier huffed a sigh into her meatloaf. It already felt too complicated for her liking. Then the thought of his naked body, thick and hairy, hard and strong, crept into her head and silenced the dissent. 

Would he go down on her again? She shivered, suddenly aware of the tension in her shoulders and the dampness between her thighs. _Better wrap up here and get home._

She paid her bill, tipped generously and headed back to her apartment, changing into a loose pair of pants and an old shirt. Olivier sighed with relief as she removed her bra, quite possibly one of her favorite moments of the day, and got into bed. She grabbed the book she had been reading and made an attempt at pretending she wasn’t aroused, then after ten minutes slammed it shut, tossed it on the nightstand and shoved her pants down to her ankles. 

She was angry, she realized, as she reached down to dip two fingers in the wetness of her pussy, slicking them up before touching her clit. A small hum broke the silence in the room, and those first few tentative teasing strokes quickly turned into frantic rubbing. 

Bradley’s image appeared before her, with the heated look he gave her before the meeting, then the look he had given her in his office as he watched her respond to his touch. He was definitely a married man, given how quickly he brought her to the edge with his tongue. How old was he again? Sixty? How many years of practice, and how many women before his wife?

How long could he have held out, she wondered? She imagined bringing him to the edge, again and again, riding his cock and rising up off of it at the most inconvenient moments. He’d get so angry; would he hit her? Pull her hair? Growl and demand that she satisfy him? Threaten to kill her unless she complied? 

What if she did it with her lips? Olivier enjoyed giving head; she had to admit it was fun watching men desperately try to hold back their orgasm. Would he force her head down on him possessively? Would he talk dirty about how good she looked with her lips around his cock? Would he want to be eating her out as she did it, grunting into her clit, bruising her hips with his fingers?

Or perhaps he’d just want to grab her, throw her into a wall and fuck her against it, right there, holding her up in his strong arms and taking out all his anger on her body, pounding her pussy until she’d hurt the next day every time she sat down. She tensed and moaned, almost there, so close she could taste it as she imagined her name on that gruff voice. And when she allowed herself suspension of disbelief, when she wondered just for a second if she could ever, in a million years, get him to say ‘please’, she came, legs trembling and shaking, hard enough to shout.

 

After another long Thursday filled with pretending she was a free man and an excruciating Friday spent in various shades of anticipation, Olivier was more frustrated than she ever thought possible. The first time around, she’d been fighting for her life, which was familiar territory. Seeking out casual sex with a homunculus was not something she had experience with. She almost laughed at how ridiculous it all was.

Olivier turned her key in the door to her apartment and half expected to see him sitting at her dining table, but of course it was silent and dark, just like she’d left it. She fixed herself a quick dinner with what she had lying around and felt the irrepressible urge to look at herself in a mirror. She’d never been vain, exactly, at least not compared to Alex, but she did hold herself to a certain standard of physical excellence. Smart hair and light makeup that doubled as war paint were part of that excellence. It was unusual for anyone in the military to have long hair, but she wasn’t exactly an ordinary soldier.

She ended up washing up a bit anyway, even though she knew she’d come home sweaty and likely crusted with blood, and opened a drawer in her dresser in search of cleaner clothes. 

There lay the bra she wore when she’d been with him in his office, boldly ice blue and adorned with elegant gold trim. Like most of her clothes it was beautiful, immaculate and expensive. But she had a greater trick up her sleeve, she thought slyly as she dug under it to find her ace in the hole. 

Normally Olivier would never wear black thigh high stockings, a garter belt and a strappy, revealing bra with matching panties to a fight, but this wasn’t just any fight. 

And she’d win. Oh, yes, she would.

With her secret weapon on underneath a tank top and her uniform, Olivier buckled her scabbard to her hips and grabbed a few coins for the pay phone she’d be using to call the Bradley estate. Central, despite its diversity and importance, was not actually all that large and the walk didn’t take her more than half an hour. She realized belatedly that perhaps saving her strength might have been prudent, but unlike last time, Bradley didn’t have intentions of killing her.

Unless he did, but it would be a waste of their time for him to do it this way. Much faster to just throw her in a cell or in front of a firing squad, and besides, he couldn’t fuck her if she was dead. 

Her hands trembled as she dialed, with a glance at the slip of paper in her pocket. A very bland butler’s voice answered and—if His Excellency’s guest didn’t mind waiting a moment or two when she arrived for them to leave the premises before speaking with Bradley—assured complete and total security of communication with her superior. Olivier fought the nervous chuckle in her throat when she replied, of course, and thank you very much for your discretion. 

After hanging up the phone she walked the short few blocks to Bradley’s mansion—palace, he’d called it—and pressed the doorbell. She was let in and couldn’t help but notice the eerie dead silence of the foyer, broken only by the sounds of the staff quietly gathering their weekend luggage. It looked like a married couple was in charge, with their two adult children and a few others. They all left together, and the butler she’d spoken to insisted that she watch their taxi leave so that she could be sure no one remained to overhear them discussing sensitive military topics. 

As she let herself back in, closing and locking the door, a familiar voice surprised her from behind.

“I expected nothing less.”

She turned around, and Bradley appeared, making his way down the stairs. He was in uniform as well, likely to keep up the charade with his staff, but he shed his coat as soon as he saw her, and held out an arm to take hers. She took it off and gave it to him, feeling immediately strange at this show of hospitality, as though she wasn’t his prisoner and this wasn’t an extramarital affair.

The sight of him in just his dress shirt again made her hungry. And the way he checked her out in her tank top wasn’t lost on her, either. This time she’d chosen one with wide shoulders, to keep the secret of her lingerie at least a little while longer. 

“Good evening, sir.” What were the rules of the game this time? Should she be prepared for him to attack her? Was he looking for weaknesses to exploit? She scanned him for weapons, but unless he was concealing one—and why would he bother?—he carried nothing at all. 

“Drop the honorifics, please.” He stepped closer to her, still holding their coats on one arm. “We’ve surpassed that, haven’t we, Olivier? And give me that,” he added, gesturing to her sword. “You won’t need it.”

She swallowed her angry gut reaction at the disrespectful address and removed her scabbard, warily handing it to Bradley. “I suppose we have.” It was difficult to converse with him without every word out of her mouth turning into ammunition for him to use against her. “What did you have in mind for our ‘rematch’?”

Now he was close enough that she could smell him. She ignored the sudden rush of blood to her groin. “Same as before. No tricks, no weapons. And now, no one around to hear or see us, either. No guards waiting outside. So you can really get vocal this time,” he suggested, and closed the space between them to speak directly into her ear. She couldn’t fight the shiver that went down her back. “I bet you didn’t even care who heard us in my office, did you?” 

“We’re all adults,” Olivier said flatly. “Based on the sheer number of come-ons and gross remarks I’ve received over the course of my career, I’d imagine everyone in earshot went home and masturbated to the sounds we made.” 

“And yet you chose me,” Bradley added triumphantly, circling around to stand behind her. She held her ground and ignored his movements. “Always got your eye on the top. Don’t get too cocky, though. I meant it when I told you I’d kill you tonight if you betrayed my trust.”

“I value my life more than that.” 

“Good.” He crossed in front of her, gesturing toward the rest of the house. “Where would you like to begin? There’s a lot of room for fighting in this wing of the house… but something tells me you just want to take this straight to my bedroom.” He smiled.

Olivier allowed herself a split second to check out the way that dress shirt hugged his muscular arms, and then fought for clarity. She glanced around him and saw hutches full of china and other priceless items from foreign nations. “I don’t want to break anything too valuable,” she said cautiously. “Nor should you have to explain to your wife why her precious vase from Xing is missing.” 

“How considerate. Upstairs it is, then.” 

She followed him, grateful he didn’t try to pretend to be a gentleman by letting her go first. Her eyes lingered on his shoulders, and she unconsciously imagined holding onto them as he fucked her against a wall. Then her gaze fell to his ass, just barely visible under his uniform and far too firm and tight for a sixty year old man, homunculus or no. Olivier wanted to grab it, badly, and had to resist.

“This is my bedroom,” Bradley presented, after they’d climbed the staircase and made their way down the hall. Olivier noticed that Selim’s room was on the opposite end of the hall from them. Fortunately, it was empty; even in all this, she had her limits. 

Olivier assumed that Bradley’s wife had done the decorating, as her eyes followed the flowing lines of sheer curtains, to the solid mahogany headboard and lush bed linens. Too bad she wouldn’t actually be sleeping in here; there was no way she was letting her guard down that much. Everything was white, it seemed, or lavender, with rich wood furniture and a lot of open space.

The logistics talk was starting to wear her patience thin. She turned to Bradley, who was still wearing that smug, triumphant look, and hammered him in the jaw. He didn’t even try to block the hit. “That’s for ogling me the day after we had sex in your office,” she snapped. 

The look in his eyes turned quickly to anger, and he tackled her, slamming both of them brutally into the hardwood floor. When she looked up, he was right there, surrounding her with his huge arms and rock hard chest. “You liked it,” he taunted, the beginnings of arousal at the edges of his voice.

She glared into his eye, and then had an idea. She reached up between his arms and pinched the elastic of his eye patch between her fingers, tugging it up and off his head. He chuckled and his left eye opened wider, and she inhaled sharply at the ouroboros mark that replaced a pupil. 

“I knew it,” she breathed. “I knew you weren’t blind in one eye. I could tell by your fighting style.”

“Brilliant observation skills,” he commended her. She tried to push him off her but it was like moving a brick wall. “Come on. At least pretend you don’t want me on top of you.”

That angered her, and one knee shot up into his groin, which did the job and she shoved him aside, scrambling up into a fighting stance. “That was dirty,” he scolded her as he got to his feet. “Do that again and I won’t fuck you.”

“Nothing’s dirty in a fight,” she shot back. “Can’t take a hit to the balls, old man? Some soldier you are.”

“Fine, then. You want to fight dirty? I’ll oblige,” he growled, and grabbed her hair, pulling it hard. She grunted in pain and punched him in the stomach, not quite knocking the wind out of him but getting close enough that he let go. This time it was her turn to take him down, and when she pinned his wrists to the floor she couldn’t help pressing against him. He was already hard, and she heard him breathing fast at her contact. Then she felt his hips rise against her and her concentration broke, face flushing with heat and, she hoped, not with color.

It wasn’t fair; she was only human. How could she compare to the emotional restraint of a homunculus? Better change the rules of the game. 

“Take off your shirt and I’ll show you something,” she offered with a smirk. Success; she saw desire flash in his eyes before his veneer of control could come back up. “Be honest. How many times have you jerked off thinking of me?”

It didn’t cause the stir she’d hoped for, but his voice was deep and gravelly when he spoke. “Every day. You do the math.” Fuck, that made her wet, imagining the muscles in his arm tightening as he pounded his cock in the shower, head falling back, leaning against the wall. As he got close to the edge, she remembered the sounds he made and imagined him blowing his load all over his hairy chest and stomach. When she snapped out of her reverie he was raising an eyebrow at her. “Go ahead. Imagine it. I said your name.”

He unbuttoned his shirt, agonizingly slowly, and she couldn’t help but stare and imagine all that power submitting to her. 

With a sultry look she pulled her tank over her head, and searched Bradley’s eyes for his response. She knew that bra lifted her already impressive breasts to a visual crescendo. The straps fell where her collarbone met her shoulders, framing her chest. It was black, classic and sensual. She felt his eyes on her, as she became aware of how her chest was heaving with every harsh breath.

She heard him swallow, breathe in, and then felt his cock twitch and pulse beneath her, suddenly thicker. For a few beats he was silent, staring shamelessly, then his hands covered her, running his fingers under the straps. “Like what you see, old man?” she asked playfully.

“You’re mine,” he growled suddenly, all the rage and lust finally expressed in his voice. She backhanded him, and felt his hips thrust against her again. His hands went to her sides, forcing her down against him. She bit back a moan at how hard he was against her. 

“Lose the rest of your uniform,” he demanded, and her fingers twitched, but she had to find a way to draw it out. 

She ignored his request and moved back until she straddled his knees, reaching down to open his pants. He certainly wasn’t protesting, but Bradley was used to orders being followed without question. Too damn bad; it was more fun this way. 

She gripped his now obvious erection through his underwear. How was Bradley made, anyway? Was he designed with this in mind, or was it a pleasant coincidence? When she started stroking him through the fabric he reached down to shrug it all down to his knees, cock springing free from under the waistband. It was flushed and dark and delicious. She had to have it. 

Without speaking a word she held it by the base and leaned down, taking just the head in her mouth, swiping her tongue along the ridge. “That’s more like it,” he said smugly, reaching down and lifting one of her breasts out of her bra, and a very slight hum followed. Good, he still thought he was in charge. 

She opened her throat and took him in all the way, smelling him and feeling her heartbeat in her groin. The surprised hitch in his breath was worth it, and she tried to stifle her moan with his cock when he started teasing her nipple. She was going to _win,_ damn it, either that or go mad trying. 

She pulled back, almost all the way off, then immediately back down again, and this time he groaned, his hips jerking up hard. A few more times and she could feel his thighs tremble beneath her, oh, yes. As soon as he was getting into her rhythm, she stopped, pulling off of him and reaching down to tease at his balls. 

“Well?” Good, he was angry; she almost wanted him to hit her, just so she could feel the full weight of it.

She put on the closest approximation she possessed to an innocent smile. “Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to keep going?” 

“Is that what you want?” Hopefully she didn’t sound too enthusiastic. 

“If you’re going to play games with me, Olivier, you’ll regret it,” he growled, and shoved her off of him hard enough to send her tumbling halfway across the room. Then he advanced on her, falling on top of her, pinning her to the floor by her wrists and keeping her legs in place with his own. The impact of her head against the ground hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pressure of arousal. If she didn’t get contact soon she’d get violent. But then, wasn’t that what he wanted?

“I’m going to release your arms, and if you don’t take your pants off immediately then I won’t give you the tongue you’ve been craving,” he threatened, and her heart pounded in her ears. 

With a silent glare she obeyed. Bradley caught a glimpse of her garter belt and grabbed her pants, moving out of the way to get them all the way off and taking her boots off with them. “You just keep surprising me,” he declared, running his hands down her legs, feeling her stockings and then reaching up to feel her panties. “Soaked through already. Had you always wanted to blow me, or was it just to get me to respond?” She couldn’t fight the moan this time, as her body surrendered instantly to his touch. She could hear the need in his voice now, could see it in his face as he kept staring at her body, lean and curvy and, she hoped, temptation incarnate. 

“Both,” she freely confessed. “Like you, I also enjoy giving head. But unlike me, you only can come once.” She didn’t dare hope otherwise.

Bradley laughed. “Now it’s your turn to tell me,” he began as he rubbed the outside of her underwear, giving her a satisfied smirk when she couldn’t fight the sounds she made. “How many times? I can see the way you watch me, you know. You can’t keep secrets from me, Olivier. I’ve seen the longing in your eyes. Now’s your chance. Surrender and I’ll make it good.”

She let out a sarcastic laugh in between heavy breaths as his fingers slipped under her panties from between her thighs. Finally, he was touching her; she wanted to shout and grip his shoulders and come, come harder than she ever had in her life. “You don’t want me to surrender. Then you have no one to fight. Isn’t that right, Bradley?” At times she wondered if the only reason she was still alive was because she was a good lay. It didn’t bother her; better to have unusual value than none. 

“That’s true. Take these off.” She unhooked her garter belt from her stockings and shoved it and her panties down her legs. She heard him curse under his breath as he touched her, slipping a finger inside her pussy and curling up to stroke her g-spot. 

“Fuck,” she shouted, head falling back and almost slamming on the floor again. Before she could look up again she felt wet heat and his tongue on her clit, and couldn’t stop her surprised, sensuous moan. Forcing her eyes open she leaned up just a little bit and caught Bradley’s gaze, then noticed how he was gripping himself in one hand. “You really do enjoy this,” she panted, “don’t you?” He didn’t answer, thankfully, and kept going, rubbing her with his tongue, sucking her clit, fingering her and bringing her very close to the edge. 

This time he stopped and pulled out of her, and she cried out in frustration, feeling herself throb angrily. “What the hell was that for? I was so close—”

“Just remember that two can play this game before you fuck with me next time,” he growled, and immediately went back down on her, this time urgently, and she felt his finger inside her again, she was about to fucking see stars, and there it was, finally, she was coming in waves, a string of expletives on her lips. He didn’t stop, and within minutes she felt another spike and rode it out, wondering how many more times he was going to make her come like this. 

After the second he drew back, kneeling on top of her, hand on his cock. “Here, or in my bed?” His hand was trembling as he stroked himself. 

“Bed.” Olivier reached over to her fallen pants and grabbed one of the condoms she’d brought with her. It might have been overkill to bring twelve of them, but she liked to be ready for anything. 

Bradley got up, kicking off the uniform trousers he’d had around his ankles and stretching. Olivier sat up and stopped in her tracks, watching him stretch, her desire for his body renewing immediately. She fixed her bra and followed him. 

He lay down on his back, idly stroking himself again while he waited for her. “I want you on top of me this time,” he began, and before she could protest he continued, “I’m too far gone, I want you to ride me and finish me off. Then I’ll show you how good the Philosopher’s Stone is for a human body.” 

She climbed on top of him, and as she did so, took a long, hard look at his body. Here and there she could see signs of age, but aside from his rugged facial features, he didn’t look older than forty-five. Not that she cared; with a body like that, he could be a hundred and she’d still fuck him. The muscles in his arm flexed as he jerked himself, just like in her fantasy, and their eyes locked. His balls were tight, and she reached out to massage them gently, wondering how close he was.

She grabbed his cock and gave him a few pulls, watching his face and relishing every groan that rumbled in his chest. She let go just long enough to reach behind her back and remove her bra, hesitating for a few seconds before taking it off. He couldn’t stop staring, and as she took him in hand and stroked him, she played with one of her nipples, cupping and groping her breasts. The look of lust on that aging face amused her. She let go of both of them and rolled the condom on his stiff cock, then got up and straddled him, sinking down and giving the ceiling a loud, emphatic cry of bliss. He grunted, hips jerking up to meet her and she squeezed him inside of her, then slapped him hard. A feral growl from him made her convulse as she slammed her hips down against his, that thick cock inside her rubbing against every sweet spot, the impact of their thrusts hitting her clit and getting her close. His hands grabbed her ass, squeezed her and then moved to her breasts, as she felt his cock twitch inside her. 

“Getting close yet?” she goaded, in between the sounds of her hips smacking his.

“Yes,” he breathed, head tilting back as he writhed on the bed, hips thrusting up hard. She’d fantasized about denying him, about the power she could have over him, but as she watched him tremble and felt the bruising impact of his hips against hers, she realized she already had it.

“Say my name. Say please.”

“I told you not to get cocky,” he warned, but he was close, so close. She slowed down, just a little, and kept talking.

“You nearly came from eating me out, didn’t you? You need my body… you need my violence.” She backhanded him and heard a desperate moan. 

“Olivier,” he growled, “I’m going to come... And if you don’t go faster I’ll kill you right now.”

“Would you fuck a corpse?”

“I’d fuck yours,” he replied, and when she rose up off his cock for a few seconds, she felt him convulse and shake with rage and need. His hands went to her neck, and she thought with a sinking feeling that he’d go through with his threat.

Then his grip relaxed, and fell to her chest again, and she heard it, forced, formal and polite.

“Please.”

She violently slammed down onto him, over and over as fast as she could, and as she climaxed she heard her name on his lips again, and a series of almost pained groans as he came inside her. It seemed endless, and when he finally started to soften she climbed off of him, falling onto the bed next to him and trying to catch her breath. 

Olivier knew there’d be payback, but it was worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

When she could breathe again she looked over at his thickly muscled form next to her. Should she get up and leave? But didn’t he say something about the Philosopher’s Stone? 

Then suddenly Bradley turned and shoved her forearm up into her trachea, holding it there and watching her struggle to breathe and fail.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself, soldier, because as promised, I’m going to kill you for betraying my trust. You see, I don’t appreciate being toyed with. And if the promise of sex with me isn’t enough to keep you in line, then perhaps it’s time you remembered who you’re dealing with here.”

She was dizzy, trying to shove his arm away with her free one but he was too strong, and she couldn’t rotate her body to kick him. His mustache quivered with anger, his cold stare filling her with real terror as she frantically tried to save herself.

Was she going to die tonight? And before the round two he’d promised? 

Then without warning he let go, and she gasped for breath, wheezing and fighting the tears at the corners of her eyes.

“I changed my mind. I’ll give you one more chance,” he warned, “but no more games.” When he seemed satisfied that she had heard him, he snorted contemptuously at her and turned away. 

Olivier sat upright, taking several minutes to get her breath back as she watched him, this time ready to defend herself. Her hands shook as she steadied herself, mouth dry and heart hammering in her chest. A flurry of thoughts appeared in her head, everything from attempting to kill him, to actually apologizing for her transgression. She did none of it.

Why was she here, again? Putting her life in danger for what, a one night stand? Maybe it _was_ time to leave, she thought, as she warily searched Bradley for threatening body language.

But he looked calmer now, as he leaned back against the headboard and took the condom off, legs spread out in front of him, limp cock and balls hanging between them looking so good even soft. Then she realized she had finished scanning him and cleared her throat, sitting up next to him and staring at her stocking-clad legs and feet while he finished cleaning up.

So the rules of the game had changed, then. Olivier supposed if this were any other relationship she’d have asked for consent first before edging someone. 

At long last he spoke, discarding his cum-stained handkerchief on his bedside table. “I told you I’d make you regret it.” Neither of them made eye contact.

Olivier waited to speak until she could do so without her voice wavering. “Normally when I engage physically with someone we discuss limits and boundaries prior to any activities, but I assumed all bets were off with you.”

“That’s a fair assumption. But a wrong one. And I’d rather not kill you, you know.”

“I’d rather not be killed,” she retorted.

“Then no edging or denial,” he warned. “You can beat me to within an inch of my life if you have it in you, but you better make me come.”

“I don’t want to be edged or denied either,” she added.

“Then we have an understanding and I hope I won’t need to threaten your life again.” 

More silence. She was beginning to memorize the intricate carving on the surface of the Bradleys’ closet door.

She forced herself to turn and look at him. “So what were you saying about the Philosopher’s Stone being good for human bodies?” 

“Why don’t I just show you?” Their eyes met. She must have flinched, because he immediately added, “You know I’m not going to kill you, right? Not as long as you behave yourself.” 

Her eyes flashed angrily. “If you treat me like a child, I’m out of here.”

“You’re young enough to be my child. Though you don’t seem too bothered by that fact, do you?” 

“I find it irrelevant,” she said tersely. “You might own the world, Bradley, but our interactions here are based on mutual respect and consent. Nothing more.” He chuckled. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, indeed. It wasn’t nothing that brought you to my doorstep, Olivier. But enough talk.” He took her hand and placed it on his half-hard cock. “You wanted another round.”

“I do, yes.” She gave him a few lazy strokes, enough to get him fully erect. Her eyes lingered on the dark hair that spread across his chest, down his abdomen, framing his cock, and when he was thrusting up into her grip she spoke. “You seem ready. Let me grab another condom.”

“You don’t want to receive the Stone’s energy in my semen?” 

Olivier stopped in her tracks. Was such a thing even possible, or was he playing with her mind? 

Either way, the answer was a firm no. She wasn’t interested in potentially becoming pregnant with a half-homunculus child. “I’m too busy to be a mother,” she cut him off as she went and grabbed a handful of condoms from her pants pocket. 

“Too many people to protect?”

“I’m not Mustang,” she reminded him as she deposited the condoms on Bradley’s bedside table. “I fight to survive.” 

“That’s the way it should be. If other people can’t defend themselves, they deserve to perish.” 

“It’s the rule of Briggs. Survival of the fittest.” She allowed herself a very indulgent grope at his pectorals. “I’m sure it’s how you’ve lasted as long as you have.” 

“I was, and still am, the very best. That’s why I’m Fuhrer.” He smiled. 

Olivier reached over and grabbed a condom, rolling it on his stiff cock and turning around to get on her hands and knees. “Behind me, like before.” She felt him rub her clit with the tip of his latex-sheathed cock as his fingers traced the trim of her stocking before gripping her thigh possessively. “Now show me some of that stamina, old man.”

“You’ll be calling me by name by the time I’m done with you,” he retorted, and pushed all the way in without warning. 

Olivier pushed back against him with a satisfied grunt, feeling solid muscle slap her ass and thighs. King was such a silly name, she thought.

Unless that wasn’t what he was referring to? 

“Pull my hair,” she demanded.

“With pleasure.” 

She felt stinging pain on her scalp that made her ache for release, and then he slowed to bend over her and breathe into her ear. “I have a leather belt, you know. Want to feel it on your back?” 

“Fuck,” she hissed and Bradley took that for a yes, tapping her hip as he pulled out to make three quick strides across the room and grab his fallen trousers. He yanked the belt free of its loops as though he was drawing a sword and clambered back onto the bed, doubling it in his hand and holding it by the buckle as he mounted her again. 

The first few strikes stung, but they were nothing. “Don’t hold back. I know what you’re capable of.”

She heard that curse under his breath, and when he flogged her this time tears welled up in her eyes. She cried out in pain, backing up on his cock, bending closer to the mattress. His thrusts were brutal now, and every lick to her back was agony. 

“I’m...” She trailed off, feeling her climax crash over her, through every nerve in her back that was on fire, through her clit as he slammed against it, through her pussy as she felt his cock fill her.

“Wrath...”

“That’s right,” he growled, pulling her hair possessively. She felt him spasm inside her, as though he was about to come, but he didn’t. 

“Put your fucking back into it,” she shouted at him, and he dealt her a blow that made her whimper. 

“I’ll break you, just you wait.” She could feel welts forming on her back from his cruelty. 

“I don’t think you have it in you,” she taunted.

“I’ll get my sword, if that’s what it takes.”

She shuddered, the thought both enticing and too risky to be worth it. “Don’t trust you to not just fuck my corpse...” 

“Perhaps another time,” he rasped. The speed of his thrusts increased as Olivier backed up into him hard, the sounds of their impact filling the room. 

“You’d love to cut me to bits, wouldn’t you?”

“Too messy. Rather just make you scream.” His breath was ragged, the build up to his orgasm familiar to her now. 

“So do it,” she goaded, and he grabbed her hair, yanking her head back and dropping his belt on the bed next to him. 

He bent to speak into her ear, and she felt his other hand reach around her to furiously rub her clit. “If that’s what you want, Olivier.”

Her legs trembled, she was close, so close and then losing it with an animalistic cry she barely recognized as her own, as loud as his as he shot his load inside her. His fingers didn’t leave her until she stopped moaning minutes later.

She inched forward off his cock and steadied herself on her hands and knees, trying to catch her breath. He got up to clean up, tapping her on the shoulder and gesturing to the master bathroom. “There’s a shower, if you’d like. Or a bath. And a mirror. You should see what I did to your back.” 

“What time is it?” she asked. 

“Does it matter?” 

“I suppose not,” she admitted as she followed him. 

He passed her a hand mirror—his wife’s, no doubt—and she stood with her back turned, holding up the hand mirror and marveling at the tangled mass of bloody marks on her back. “Perfect.”

“I thought you’d enjoy that,” he added, shedding the condom and facing her again. 

Olivier paused. Should she shower with him? It seemed a little... intimate. Then again, she’d just had sex with him twice in his marriage bed. And she’d rather not walk home with blood all over her. 

“Shower, then I’m heading back home,” she said, businesslike, as she peeled off her stockings.

“Regretting me already? At least wait till tomorrow.” 

She gave him a stern look. “We’re comrades, not lovers.”

“Are we?” His smile infuriated her. “You’re a prisoner, remember?”

“All the more reason not to stay, before you change your mind about killing me.” She turned on the water and stepped into the shower, closing the door abruptly behind her.

He followed her in, invading her personal space and forcing her against a wall. “I can do that at any moment without being close to you. I have an entire country’s military under my command, including residents of your apartment building who know where you live. Why not at least enjoy what I have to offer? You’re no safer at home than you are in my bed.”

“If this is your attempt at flirting with me, it’s a feeble one,” she retorted, grabbing a bar of soap off a ledge built into the wall and soaping up her arms. 

Bradley opened the door to the shower cubicle and fetched a washcloth that had been hanging nearby. “Allow me,” he offered, and she glared at him.

“After you just went on about how I’m never safe?”

“I’m not sure what you’re expecting of me, Olivier. I told you I wasn’t human.” He took the bar of soap from her hand and the next thing she was aware of was painful stinging all over her back.

“Damn it, if you’re gonna do that, at least be gentle,” she snapped. To her surprise the next few motions were softer. “That’s better,” she huffed with a sigh, trying not to enjoy herself too much. Clearly his nature wasn’t human, but he could play one, when he wanted to. If he wanted to. 

“You should give me more credit. I wasn’t trained for gentleness all those years ago.”

“That line might work on your wife, but I hold my men to a different standard.”

“I’m sure.” He finished washing the blood from her back, and she turned to rinse it, facing him. He was smirking, like he’d just made a joke. She ignored him irritably to wash her lowers, cleaning up the mess they’d made. 

When she was finished, she exited the shower cubicle abruptly and grabbed the first towel she could find, drying off and grabbing her clothes from Bradley’s bedroom. She stuffed her stockings and garter belt in her pockets and grimaced slightly at the feeling of damp panties on her otherwise clean body.

She was putting on her bra when he came out, clean and idly drying himself with a towel in a manner that kept him completely exposed. Tempting her to stay, no doubt. Well, it wasn’t going to work. 

Olivier grabbed her tank top and pants and dressed as quickly as she could. “If you’re expecting a call, you’re mistaken.”

He smiled. “You have my number. And it’s only Friday night. My wife won’t be back until Sunday evening. Just in case you change your mind.” 

She put on her boots. “I’ll get my stuff myself.”

“Good night, Olivier.”

The sound of his front door slamming was her only goodbye. 

As she briskly walked home in the dead of night, grimacing at her watch, she wondered how much longer they could play this game without escalating into real danger.


End file.
